A Perilous Game
by SleepingNadine
Summary: Sometimes, the one person you want to forget... can't get you out of their head. Rated M for the usual reasons.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye

**_Prologue_ **

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The suite was decently sized, brightly lit, with a warm beige color gracing the walls. Black and white art hung above a long black-topped desk running the length of one wall. A petite young woman lay on the bed, a blue sheet pulled up to her chin, her auburn curls framing her face. In fact, this suite had two beds, top of the line. They could even be inclined if one so desired…

…Or it was made necessary to assist the draining of blood and body fluid.

Because this room was not some swanky hotel room, it was an autopsy suite. The art on the walls were not abstract paintings, but radiographs pinned to light boxes. The beds didn't consist of two queen sized, down filled mattresses; but were aluminum autopsy tables, outfitted with plumbing and raised edges to contain fluid.

And the woman on the table was not alive.

She was also not alone. She had been removed from a small refrigerated unit in the morgue by an assistant, and transferred to the table. The assistant was an older man, short, but with a stocky build. He looked up when the prosector walked into the room.

The prosector was younger than his assistant, maybe by ten years, but still middle aged. He was tall, with vivid red hair, and a face lined prematurely. Both men wore serviceable navy blue scrubs covered by light blue surgical gowns and shoe covers, and greeted each other with inclined heads.

"Right on time, Mike," said the assistant, while reaching for a body block to place under the cadaver's back.

"Jane Doe number 2 for the day, John?"

"By my count," John sighed, knowing this one would take much longer.

Michael Delray's gloved hands reached up to properly place his clear plastic face guard while walking with muffled footsteps toward the table.

"Let's see what we've got here," he murmured. In his peripheral, he could see John moving about, taking measurements of the body, and saying them aloud into the voice recorder. As the prosector, Mike was the one to actually do the autopsy, of which the first step was the external examination. His eyes were focused in on the female form before him, noting points to pay particular attention to during the exam.

She was not quite lying flat, as she had not died that way. She had been found bound and gagged, each limb tied to a corner of a bed. Rigor mortis had set her arms and legs in that spread-eagle position, but through handling and the need to strap the body down for transport, they had been broken out of it. Her head was turned slightly to the right, and the body block under her was forcing her chest up. There were several abrasions and contusions covering her naked form. Her wrists and ankles showed lacerations and bruising, indicative of fighting against the bonds holding her. Her blood matted brown hair framed a face livid with bruising and what looked like a wound to her temple. Dead green eyes were almost obscured by both pre and post mortem swelling. Lacerations could be seen in several locations, the most glaring examples mutilating her flat abdomen. Seemingly made with a knife or other sharp instrument, the crowning touch on the whole macabre mess was the gaping slash through her neck.

Ear to ear.

In the course of the autopsy, she would be photographed. Every wound and abnormality measured, described, recorded. A Y-shaped incision made on her chest, with the tail extending all the way to the pubic bone. Experienced hands would pull the flaps of skin and muscle back, and cut her ribs. The chest plate removed, her chest cavity would then be examined. After, her organs would be lifted out in one bloc and dissected. In the process of removing her brain, her head would fill with the whine of a Stryker Saw, but she wouldn't hear it.

Everything would be thoroughly recorded, documented by these two men. They did this for a living; one a pathologist, the other a diener. Both analyzed death on a daily basis. They did not investigate murder or look for the why; they looked for the how. Their job was to determine the cause of death- the cause of death for the thousands of citizens to pass over their tables in the course of their careers. Thousands of gruesome images stored in their minds, not allowed to surface unless called upon. They kept the images hidden, in the back of their minds, so they could deal with death, and yet remain in the world of the living. They knew particularly disturbing images were always harder to hide, harder to _keep_ hidden. And they both knew that this was one of those images.

Mike paused before the first incision, scalpel poised in double-gloved hand, and could not stop himself from taking in one last view of the sinister artistry someone had already inflicted on this Jane Doe's skin. He glanced once more at the part he knew would ingrain itself in his mind: below one deep, ragged slash just above her right breast, scrawled across her abdomen with a knife, were the words,

'COME BACK, LISA'

* * *

AN: I seriously hope you are asking questions. The answers will come in good time, all in good time... This is my first Red Eye fic and I plan on having a ton of fun with it... (muahahaha) Please review for me, I am open to all criticism :)

Special thanks to Imshi for being amazing and proofreading this!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye

**_Chapter One_**

* * *

Lisa Reisert reached for the remote to turn off the TV news program. It made her slightly ill. So many bad things happen everyday to so many people, and if it's gruesome enough, it may get 45 seconds on the local news. But as soon as something more sensational came along, the plight of the previous days victims were forgotten.

She did not have a high opinion of the media.

Just a year and a half earlier, Lisa had been the one whose face had usurped some poor beaten schmucks on the nightly news. Her image had been plastered all over the media with the gripping headline: "LUX HOTEL MANAGER SURVIVES ATTACK, FOILS TERRORISTS." Press had hounded her, seeking an exclusive interview with the 'pretty brunette, (25)' who had saved the Lux Atlantic Hotel to flesh out the few details released by authorities.

For a week, they had speculated on what really happened, who had been involved, and what was to become of Lisa Reisert. The only thing known for sure, was that a member of a terrorist organization had attempted to force her into aiding a plot to bomb the Lux Atlantic Hotel in Miami, Florida, where Charles Keefe, Deputy Director of Homeland Security was staying. Originally, the press were not to know of Lisa's involvement. But, inevitably, someone in the FBI or Miami Police investigating the events leaked information regarding her role.

She was turned into a local, and to some extent national hero.

After that first harrowing week, the attention died down as other, more timely scandals and atrocities filled the headlines. She regarded it as a relief. In dealing with the aftermath of that fateful red eye flight, she would have rather been left alone.

While staring into the fading eyes of the man who had just tried to stab her to death in her father's home, Lisa realized she felt some sense of sympathy. She knew what it felt like to lose, to be beaten in a way that would make one wish for death rather continue to live with the memory of defeat. And if, through the shock, this burgeoning feeling inside her was what it felt like to win in the face of life threatening danger, well, she pitied him the loss of it. But there can only be one victor in a game such as that, and the last look she gave him before he closed his eyes clearly stated what they both knew: she had won.

As soon as the police had arrived with the paramedics hot on their heels, Lisa requested clearance to leave and was granted permission to head to the Lux, to assist her colleague, Cynthia, with the consequences of the explosion in the hotel. She left her father, Joe Riesert, in the house, confident he could deal with anything the officers requested.

On her way out, Lisa caught a glimpse of a stretcher carrying a man being placed in an ambulance. In the back of a police cruiser on its way to the Lux, she considered the sight. There were only two men in the house who would have been in need of a stretcher, and one she had seen quite dead as the result of being thrown by an SUV through the front of the house. She knew, then, that the man who had gone by the name Jackson Rippner, the man who had tried to kill her, was still alive.

Out of habit, the thought was pushed to the back of her mind, to be dealt with later. Or never.

Once in the Hotel, she quickly found Cynthia and spent the rest of the day with her dealing with irate hotel guests, grateful politicians, and FBI investigators. She realized she needed to worry about the fact that she had used a stolen SUV to kill a man. She realized, due to shock or skill, she could relate the entire story to the field agent questioning her in an unemotional, straightforward manner. She realized if she had to deal with one more hotel guest, she was going to get her field hockey stick.

Charges were not brought against Lisa. Her father was actually an old friend of Charles Keefe, and as the daughter of a golf buddy, and a sign of his gratitude, strings were pulled for her. She was informed she would get off scot-free before six o'clock that evening.

That night, she and Cynthia met her father at a resort down the street from the Lux. Both her apartment and her father's home were now crime scenes, and they would be staying in this hotel until their respective residences were released. After much fretting, her father turned in for the night, and the two women continued to sit in the lobby bar. They had always been friendly, but Lisa had not realized how glad she was to have another female to talk to, or in this case, just sit with, until that night. She was beyond exhausted, mentally and physically, but this new feeling of strength she had discovered while looking down at Jackson was keeping her afloat.

Through the rest of the first week, that strength enabled her to keep her spine straight in the face of a media circus. Deeper issues and feelings were put on hold as she dodged reporters, her answering machine brimming with messages from eager sharks in somber suits. She plastered a smile on her face when recognized on the sidewalk; side-stepped questions about her painful ordeal designed to entertain others morbid curiosity.

In time, when the heat had died down a bit, she had time to deal with her experience. And this time, she swore to herself, she really would deal. She had been working at the Lux for three years, one as a manager, securing the position fresh out of college through another of her Dad's contacts. The first time she was attacked, a year into the job, she barely paused. She was broken inside, but she quickly found that if she shoved the pieces down deep enough, they almost resembled a whole again. She threw herself into her job, relying on the loving support of her father when she was feeling low, and rose to a promotion ahead of schedule. She had never really healed from her first ordeal- and to be subjected to another terrorizing experience most people could go their whole lives avoiding? That was too much. A week and a half after the most recent attack, she handed in her letter of resignation.

At 25, Lisa Reisert was unemployed. But, she had to get away. Away from the Lux, away from Miami, and though it pained them both, away from her father. She needed to discover the healing process herself.

She didn't consider it running from her problems. If anything, she felt she was moving _toward_ them, toward dealing with them. Fixing herself before she could fix anything else. The strength she had gained since the assassination attempt only grew during this period, and she became more comfortable with it. Someone had once told her, _"It was beyond your control." _She knew now that it held some truth. She had not invited or even allowed these occurrences, fate had simply caught her up in some cruel game. However, once in any situation, she knew she had the strength to stay in control, and handle it- a knowledge that could only come from experience. She knew she was going to survive, and three (admittedly painfully boring) months into her sabbatical, she accepted a new job offer.

It was supposed to be temporary, helping out a long time friend of the family. Mark Bates and his wife, Adelaide, owned a Bed and Breakfast in Virginia. When it was discovered that Adelaide was sick, she wished to move closer to her children and grandchildren to spend her remaining time. Mark needed someone to take over the running of the Inn, and Lisa, looking for something different, agreed to help.

Surprisingly, she even had the blessing of her father to make the move. Joe was a good man, if slightly overprotective of his daughter, and saw in her a need to make it on her own for a while. Granted, he visited her in Virginia more often than he probably should, but neither father nor daughter had any objection.

This temporary position of 'innkeeper' had now lasted over a year. Adjusting from the fast-paced, high-stress life of a top hotel manager, to the slower, more involved experience of running a bed and breakfast was not as jarring as one would think. At least, not to her. And she had the time to form solid friendships with most of the staff. Really, human contact was such a refreshing change.

Lisa's home was now the third floor of the Bates Inn. It was spacious, afforded sweeping views of the hazy Blue Ridge Mountains, and she was in love with it. She was currently hunkered down in her cream-colored couch in front of the television, but as she grabbed the remote, the story the anchorwoman was reporting caught her ear.

"…In international news, the Algerian leader assassinated earlier today was…"

Click.

She stared at the black TV screen for a long moment.

_Jackson._

Jackson Rippner. This was yet another reason Lisa rarely watched the news. Events like this always brought her thoughts around to the man in seat 18F- her own, personal terrorist. He had told her he was a manager of assassinations and government overthrows. She couldn't help but wonder if he had anything to do with this new development in international politics. She had no idea where he was or even if he was still alive. He had vanished before even arriving at the hospital that day. No one could find him, nor, she thought, had they looked very hard. She could only assume he had useful contacts like she herself had taken advantage of to avoid punishment.

He was the only part of the entire ordeal that still haunted her on a daily basis. She felt like she had recovered from the pain of her previous attacks, and done the whole "finding herself" bit. Even her first attacker did not infiltrate her thoughts at odd times throughout the day. But, Jackson-

It must have been his face. She had never even seen the face of the first man to terrorize her; but, Jackson's she had seen in perfect focus. He was striking, really. Pale skin and dark hair framed the bluest eyes Lisa had ever seen. They were a weapon all their own, and he used them: one moment, sympathetic and admiring; the next, condescending and ruthless. His full mouth was the only soft feature in a face of sharp planes and ice.

It followed her everywhere. He would pop into her thoughts in quiet moments, in the middle of conversations, even her cat reminded her of him. Along with the third-floor apartment, Lisa had taken over the care of the Inn's resident feline, Anastasia: a Siamese with characteristically blue eyes. Watching the cat stalk its prey, she had never felt so sympathetic to a mouse.

But above all of this, Jackson haunted her nightmares.

She sometimes dreamt of small spaces and hate-filled eyes, sometimes of running: breathless, scared, desperate, knowing he was behind her, and there was no escape. Even if the evil in her dream took no specific form, she always knew it was him. _Jackson._

Thinking of him conjured a vivid image of his face in the fore of her mind. She saw it forming in the blank TV. It was so clear. She could see the rage in his eyes. With terror filling her lungs, she realized: _it was too clear_. She spun around and jumped in fright off of the couch when the phone rang.

She stood breathing hard in front of the TV, clutching her heart and feeling like a fool. Of course, he wasn't in her apartment. Her mind was just playing tricks on her. Horrible, vivid, tricks.

Anastasia jumping up on the back of the sofa brought her back to reality. She dived for the phone, but was too late as the answering machine picked up.

"Leese, it's Dad. I just thought I'd give you a call before I turned in tonight. Maybe you're out on a date- didn't you tell me about a Chris up there? A dentist or something?"

It was the tone of his voice that stopped Lisa from picking up the phone. He sounded so hopeful…

"Anyway, I hope you're having fun. And be careful. I just saw on the news this evening that they found the body of some girl here, and she was all slashed up. I know, I know- Miami is different than Nellysford. But really, Leese, we both know it can happen anywhere. Stay safe and I hope you're doing okay. Maybe I'll come up and visit again soon. Alright, well I'm going to bed. 'Night, sweetie." He hung up.

"Goodnight, Dad," she whispered.

* * *

AN: Hey everyone! So sorry it took 2 weeks to post this. It's finally up and...backstory, backstorrry… plot? Where's the plot? I know, it sucks- but it's getting there, have patience! I was too busy amusing myself with my tiny Wes Craven homage (tensiontensiontensionPHONERINGSmuahahaha!) Please let me know what you think. About the story, not the Craven moment. And THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed last time (or even just read)! Some of them made me laugh diabolically;) I seriously DID NOT expect that kind of response to this. Not gonna lie, it was the coolest thing EVER! As are you. Go ahead, you can preen a bit. You're awesome.

AN Part Deux: I almost forgot! 10 points for whoever picks up on another homage of sorts in this chapter… And thank you to everyone who helped me edit this, especially plays-with-stars (also for the use of her cat ;))

AN Strikes Back: This got reposted a couple of times (my internet is screwy) so if you got a couple of alerts for this: sorry for crowding up you inbox!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye

**_Chapter Two_**

* * *

"Fuck," Field Agent Jake Waterfield smeared more VapoRub under his nose. 

"Is it the smell or the sight that's bothering you, big guy," asked Mike Delray. He threw an amused glance at the man standing a good distance back from the body they were examining.

"Fuck you, too."

Mike merely smirked.

John, his assistant, was busy photographing the body before them: a Caucasian female, mid-twenties, slender, brunette hair, and green eyes. The older man moved about the body, finding the best shot of each abnormality and wound. She had been found the day before, bound and beaten. Her throat was obviously slashed, and lacerations were evident across the body- but none so dramatic as the long, deep cut atop her right breast. He was feeling a foreboding sense of déjà vu.

"Done and done," he laid aside the gore-crusted camera.

"Excellent, let's begin the external so the good agent, here, can leave before he loses his lunch."

Waterfield glared.

But Mike had already turned his attention to the woman lain out before him. Normally, he preferred to work his way down the body, measuring and recording, to avoid missing anything. But in this case, he made an exception for the blonde 'suit' shooting him annoyed looks from the corner. He started with the abdomen.

Mike too, felt a familiarity. Just two weeks earlier he had done the autopsy of a young woman injured very like this. The FBI obviously saw something in this case- perhaps linked it to that other unfortunate woman's death. He paused, and mentally took a step back from that kind of thought. His job was to determine cause of death. He couldn't let bias cloud fact until he was through. He began the external exam, describing the abdominal wound out loud:

"Wound to abdomen, five inches cranial to the navel. Centered on the midline. Two inches across. Large safety pin inserted subcutaneously, attaching one sheet of paper. Insertion was pre-mortem…"

Waterfield moved up to the table while Mike continued to drone into the voice recorder. This is what he had come for- not that he knew why. He was more specialized in white-collar fraud, and visiting the morgue was low on his to-do list. However, after the evidence was properly removed from the body and preserved by the pathologist, he was supposed to personally see it reached the FBI's forensics laboratory in a timely fashion. Why a field agent had to do it was beyond him. He had a feeling higher ups were nervous about this case and putting pressure on his direct supervisors- who thought maybe evidence being couriered by an agent would sound productive. _Probably a technician could do it better. Fucking politicians._

He was jolted out of his speculation by John's elbow nudging him.

"If you're ready…"

"Of course," was his gruff reply. In front of him Mike was holding out an evidence bag containing the bloodstained sheaf of paper. Agent Waterfield took it and looked down at it: written in black marker on the back of a flyer advertising a new Mexican restaurant was a message.

His eyebrows shot up, "Fuck."

"Well put."

Another silent glare.

"Hey, at least it's not carved in her," reasoned Mike.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Mike rolled his eyes, "Never mind."

Waterfield left the two men in the autopsy suite with out another word. Slipping the bag into his brief case, he discarding his smock and shoe covers in the locker room. He did not know much about this case, but that letter would haunt him during his trip up to Virginia, to FBI headquarters in Quantico, and the forensics lab that was its destination. He could not stop thinking about what he'd seen- both the woman on the table and the cryptic message pinned to her stomach. The message he now carried.

_I found her._

_Sad, sad Lisa._

_I didn't want to._

_I didn't mean to._

_I had to._

_So I did._

_And I planned._

_OH I planned._

_I'm thinking about it right now._

_Can you see me grinning?_

_Can you hear her screaming?_

_No, not yet, you couldn't yet._

_But I can._

_--xxxxxxxxxxxxx----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------xxxxxxxxxxxxx--_

Lisa was late. So late. Though it seemed that was just the way this day was going. After her dad called the previous night, she had tried to go to sleep, but nightmares prevented it from coming. She ended up watching a movie on the couch until she drifted off, thinking Micheal Douglas was perhaps the best president ever.

Unfortunately, she had forgotten to set her alarm.

Starting the day late set her whole schedule behind. Now, she was speed walking from her car (she had been late to an appointment with a potential caterer) and up the path to the Inn, praying desperately that the couple she was supposed to meet had not left already.

She threw open the front door, smiled and greeted two guests before making her way back into the kitchen. The cook, Doug, looked up from the tray of cookies he was preparing when she entered.

"Hey Lisa, lookin' kind of flustered," the middle-aged man waggled an eyebrow in her direction before turning to open the oven.

Her annoyed look bounced right off his back.

"Thanks. Really, I'd love to chat, but I'm late for about the fourth time today. Do you know if the Peterson's are still here?" She tossed the files in her hand down on the kitchen island and dug the appropriate one out of the stack. She opened it and glanced at the contents as a refresher. The Peterson's were an elderly couple looking at the Inn as a place to renew their vows on their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Along with renting rooms, the Bates Inn made a steady profit from hosting events like weddings and dinners.

"Uh, yeah, I saw them earlier. I think Margie might have taken them out back."

"Good- thanks. Those smell wonderful, by the way."

He glanced down at the tray of freshly baked cookies he just pulled from the oven and grinned.

"Thanks, I think they're going to taste even better. I got the recipe from…"

"Mmhmm," mumbled Lisa, already half way out the door, "Yeah, I'll try one later."

She could hear him laughing as she left the kitchen. Down the hall to the right toward the front of the house were the spacious dining and sitting rooms for the guests; but Lisa turned left into a hallway at the back of the house that ended in a glass storm door. She walked out and saw four people- a slightly overweight woman, a couple hand in hand, and a younger dark haired man, strolling along the lush grass toward a white gazebo.

It made for quite a picture. Flowering bushes framed the large back yard with a few trees for shade. The gazebo was set in one corner and a small garden in the other. Beyond the yard rolling foothills yielded to the Blue Ridge Mountains. It was a windy spring day, and the sky was beginning to look a bit overcast, but Lisa still couldn't help but sigh and relax a bit as she strode to catch up to the group.

Her event assistant, Margie, was chatting to the other three about various decoration themes that could adorn the gazebo for the ceremony as she joined them.

"Oh! Well here's the innkeeper herself! This here's Ms. Lisa Reisert, she runs this place- and does a mighty fine job of it," said Margie in her distinct drawl.

"It's great to finally meet you Mrs. Peterson, Mr. Peterson," she shook hands and smiled at each in turn.

"Oh you can call us Jim and Nancy, Ms. Reisert," boomed the older man, in a loud, deep voice. He seemed the type to slap her on the back if she was standing close enough. "…And this gentleman here is a friend of our granddaughter's. She couldn't be up here with us today, so she sent him a long to check things out." He winked at her.

Lisa finally turned her full attention to the last member of the party, and froze.

_Jackson._

The younger man's smile faded from his face, replaced with a look of concern.

"Ma'am, are you okay…?"

* * *

AN: Did you like it? Hate it? Disappointed? Go ahead and fill out a comment card, and then you can stick it… right in my reviews page. :D Seriously, though, I like con crit- so don't be shy. I'd really like to thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter! (Yup! That was it, lkellogg27 and LadyJaye :) fun times) Hopefully, it won't take too long for another update. Guess who's in the next chapter? Oooh…. I'm so excited! 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye

**_Chapter 3_**

* * *

"Lisa." 

Lisa felt a hand grip her wrist.

"Lisa!"

"Hey, there young lady, are you going to be alright?"

Slowly, she closed hers eyes and opened them once more. Margie had taken her arm, and Jim and Nancy Peterson were leaning in close, brows furrowed with concern over her pale face. But Lisa was staring at the other man.

It wasn't Jackson.

She put a hand to her forehead and gave a short laugh.

"I'm so sorry… I don't know what came over me."

"Well, darlin' you gave us all a fright! You looked like you'd seen a ghost for a moment there, about as pale as one too," Margie still held fast to Lisa's forearm, as if afraid she might fall over.

"I just got a bit lightheaded for a second, that's all," She slipped her arm from Margie's grasp and smoothed the front of her blouse. "I'm fine now, though."

"Alright then," Jim appeared satisfied by her response and the fact that she was standing fine on her own. "Like I said, this fellow here is a friend of my granddaughter's, Paul Hardey."

"Hi," Lisa extended a shaky hand to him and he shook it with a surprisingly firm grip. He was average height with a very round and pleasant face, and his crisp shirt and slacks hid a slightly pudgy outline. Now that she was in her right mind, Lisa wondered how she mistook him for Jackson at all.

"I'm thrilled to meet you Ms. Reisert."

"Well, thank you," she gave an embarrassed smile and turned to address the entire group. "You'll have to excuse me for not being here when you arrived, I've been running behind all day. But, I'm here now, so why don't we finish up the tour of our grounds and then we can all go inside and warm up a bit. Doug, our cook, just made a fresh batch of cookies we can try."

Lisa picked up where Margie had left off in describing themes and organization for an outdoor ceremony. In the year or so since she had taken on her position, she had given the same information what felt like hundreds of times. And while, to ensure she included everything she had memorized a sort of speech to be given to each client, she tried to get to know each couple and understand their needs and wants. This is what made her good at her job. She knew how to read people, and how to adapt herself.

Though she would be the first to admit she had been wrong before.

As they talked, they began to move to the front of the house. The Bates Inn was a grand, old colonial revival style home rising three stories and painted a light yellow. As they reached the front porch, Margie and the Peterson's continued through the door, but Lisa stopped and looked behind her, out to the front lawn and driveway. In a habit she'd developed since moving to the rural area, she quickly scanned the area, to ensure nothing was amiss. Satisfied, she turned back around to continue into the inn, and ran straight into Paul Hardey.

"Oh!" She cried. "I'm so sorry!"

"That's alright, the pleasure was all mine Ms. Reisert," he quipped with a wink. At her nervous laugh his brown eyes seemed to focus intensely on her face. "Were you looking for something out there?"

"Uh, no. No, I was just trying to enjoy a last bit of the outdoors before heading inside," she lied.

"Really?" His gaze lifted to the sky, now blatantly threatening a cold rain. When he looked at her again, his eyes were narrowed once more.

Lisa suddenly realized this is why she had associated him with Jackson Rippner. On the plane, Jackson had a way of looking at her that made her want to physically protect herself. Paul was doing the same thing now. The intense, scrutinizing expression he was wearing was the same one she had seen when she had first met him. Then, it had been somewhat softened by a smile, but now Lisa wondered why he was looking at her this way.

Her thoughts may have shown on her face, but a moment later, Paul's eyes widened and his pudgy grin was back. Once again, Lisa was left wondering if she had imagined the entire thing. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Well, I think the outdoors look like they'll be glad to be rid of us for a while." He extended an arm to her and politely escorted her inside.

Lisa and Margie left the Peterson party in the comfortable living room to relax while they fetched refreshments and paperwork. The sound of the rain pelting the front storm door followed them down the hall to the kitchen. As they walked side by side, Margie glanced over at her friend with a sly smile.

"So…"

Lisa looked at her, noticed her smile, and responded with suspicion. "So, what?"

"That Paul Hardey seems like a nice guy."

"Oh no, Margie. You are _not_ starting with that again."

"What darlin'? Just an observation," she said with false innocence. "And I'm not the only one noticin' things. He looked like he was observing you pretty close."

"You noticed that too? I was starting to get a little creeped out."

"Whoa, creepy?" She let out a loud cackle, "No way. If only I could get men to look at me like that. That was a good look, _Ms. Reisert_, a very good look."

"Margie if you wink and nudge me one more time…"

"I'm just saying, that's all. Besides, when was the last time you were on a date?"

"Just a couple of weeks ago…"

Margie put a hand on her hip. "Honey, go ahead and tell your daddy that you got the hots for your dentist if it makes you feel better. But in my book, letting him guilt you into lunch after you got your cavity filled is not a date. When was the last time you were out with a man you were actually interested in?"

Lisa stopped. "Well, last time didn't turn out the way I planned." Last time, it turned out she was flirting in a Tex Mex with a terrorist. They pushed through the door into the kitchen.

"And you're going to let that put you off men forever? Though if the rest are anything like Doug here, you may be on to somethin'."

Doug turned away from the sink as his wife approached and gave him a smacking kiss on his cheek.

"Hey! I don't have to take this," he whined.

"Yes, you do. Now tell our Lisa that she should have hope, because you're the only man like you."

"But wouldn't that just crush her spirit?"

Lisa laughed. "You two make me sick with all that public affection. Now if you're done analyzing my love life…" She gave Margie a pointed look.

"Ha! I'll never be done. But, I'll stop for now. We have an event to book!" She grabbed the tray of cookies her husband offered her while Lisa selected the brochures and forms the Petersons would need.

"That's our Lisa, always keeping us on task," grumbled Doug, turning back to the dirty pans.

Picking up the thick folder of paperwork, Lisa threw a sassy, "That's because I'm awesome" back at Doug and the two women exited the kitchen laughing.

"That poor man…" Lisa began, but the thought trailed off when she noticed headlights cutting through the heavy rain outside. Two dark vehicles pulled in to the Inn's drive. "Margie, the Peterson's are our last appointment, right?"

"Yes, ma'am. Must be someone lookin' for a room."

"That would be a welcome relief." The Inn experienced an off-season in early spring. Housing guests on a Tuesday evening was not something one could count on. "Why don't you finish up with the Peterson's and I'll roll out the welcome mat for the visitors?"

"Sure thing, I can handle it. You see if you can book a room for them. Lord knows we could use it." Then in a stage whisper, "Though, Mr. Hardey's gonna be disappointed…"

"Margie."

Margie winked and strode toward the living room.

Lisa turned, checking her clothes and putting a smile on her face, preparing to open the door for the occupants of the vehicles. The sight that greeted her was not what she was expecting.

Two men in dark suits with darker umbrellas were leading a party of four other men up the path. Lisa didn't need her ability to read people to be able to tell that these were not your average bed and breakfast guests. Her brow knit with confusion, but the smile remaining steadfast, she pushed open the door for the two men in front. Each shook out their umbrella efficiently and Lisa collected them with a greeting.

"Welcome to the Bates Inn. Can I help you…?"

The men were not paying attention to her at all. They moved into the foyer, their eyes moving side to side. Lisa stood with her back to the wall, clutching the umbrellas. She recognized these men. Why was the Secret Service here? She turned her gaze back to the porch in time to watch the door open once again, and Charles Keefe step into the house.

"Mr… Mr. Keefe!"

"Good evening, Lisa. How've you been?" Lisa stared in surprise. His appearance had not chanced very much since the last time she saw him. Keefe was a tall man with steel gray hair and piercing blue eyes. She also took in the man who had held the door for Keefe as he entered. He was around Keefe's height with a similar dark suit and light brown hair. He looked just as official as Keefe and was speaking in a low tone through the open door to the two agents remaining on the porch.

"Uh, fine sir. Just fine." Lisa opened her mouth to speak further but closed it again to collect her thoughts. Keefe shook her free hand and gave her sympathetic smile.

"I can imagine you're surprised to see me." He turned to the man behind, "Hagerty, are you finished?"

"Yes, sir." He also handed his umbrella to Lisa.

"Lisa, I don't have a lot of time here. Do you have a place we could have a private conversation?"

"Um, yes, we can go to my study upstairs. But what is…"

She was cut off by Keefe and his party making a beeline for the staircase down the hall that led to Lisa's private quarters. She was left in the hallway, three dripping umbrellas in hand, utterly flustered by the whirlwind that was Charles Keefe.

Quickly she stashed the umbrellas in a stand by the door and poked her head into the living room. She said her goodbyes to the Peterson's and Paul Hardey promising to actually be present at their next meeting, while trying not to let herself overanalyze Paul's intense stare. After telling Margie she had an emergency meeting and was not to be disturbed, she spun and strode out of the room.

She missed the worried look from Margie, and the interested one from Paul.

On her way up the stairs, Lisa racked her brain in search of any reason the Deputy Head of Homeland of Security could be making an unexpected visit with _good_ news. She tensed when she realized this might have something to do with her father. After all, he was how she was originally connected to Keefe.

By the time she reached the top stair, she was panicked, and a little angry that Keefe would barge in to her Inn with out a word of explanation. A flushed Lisa Reisert entered the room full of men, her gaze ignoring the Secret Service thugs and zeroing in on Keefe.

"With all due respect sir, what is this about?"

"Lisa, Lisa. Please take a seat."

He was asking her to take a seat in her own home. It irked her, but she complied, eager for answers.

"Lisa, I want to introduce you to Reggie Hagerty. Mr. Hagerty works for the FBI." Both parties greeted each other. When satisfied, Keefe continued. "Now, first of all I want to reassure you this has nothing to do with your father. In fact, Joe doesn't even know I'm here this afternoon."

"How…?"

"I knew that would be the first thing that came to your mind."

"And yet, you said nothing to reassure me downstairs," Though pleased nothing horrible had happened to her father, Lisa was quickly growing tired of being offered no explanations.

"Bear with me for a moment. I'm going to explain everything." He crossed his legs at the knee. Keefe and Hagerty were sitting on a sofa while Lisa was perched across from them on a love seat. The Secret Service agents had, unsurprisingly, chose to stand.

"Lisa, I'm not really sure how to broach this subject politely, but we know about your ."

Lisa's face froze in horror. Hagerty quietly asked the agents to leave the room.

"The circumstances of how I came across this knowledge are a bit complicated. I have to say ever since that day at your hotel, I have kept tabs on you. You saved my family, and I'll be eternally grateful for it. So, I kept a sort of… eye on you. Made sure you were doing okay, that you were safe." He paused at the look on Lisa's face. "It was not a secret and many of those in my inner circle were aware of my interest in you and your family. It has come to my attention that a closer watch is in order."

"A closer… watch?" Lisa couldn't believe it. She was in shock. Nothing was absorbing in her brain. She put a hand to her head in an attempt to get it working properly again. "You mean, you've had me watched, for what… over a year now?"

"Yes. Well, not watched so much as had someone check up on you now and then."

Lisa stared.

"But again, it has become clear that more drastic measures need to be taken. And to explain that, I've brought along Hagerty who is in charge of the investigation."

More drastic measures? Investigation? Lisa's thoughts were jumbling. Confusion mixed with outrage mixed with fear.

"Ms. Reisert, we are currently investigating several deaths in Miami, Florida of young women. The cases seemed to be linked, we're thinking each was committed by the same perpetrator."

Lisa threw her hand up. "Stop. My father's told me about them. They were all stabbed, right? What does this have to do with me?

"Well," Hagerty paused, meeting her eyes. "Each body has been found with a message addressing you."

She shook her head. Again, she couldn't believe it. How does one respond to news such as that? Her mouth opened to speak, but no sound came out. She couldn't wrap her mind around the words. Finally, she cleared her throat and tried again.

"How in the world do you know the messages are for me," she whispered.

"In each message, the killer refers to a 'Lisa', which, by itself would obviously not be enough to narrow it down to you. But, there's something else." He spoke slowly, as if choosing just the right words. "Only those directly involved in the investigation know that each… each victim has been found bound to a motel bed strewn with pictures and news paper clippings of… well, you."

She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. The pressure in her throat was becoming unbearable. She sniffed and lifted her chin. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Well, technically I really shouldn't. But Mr. Keefe, here, found out about it and believes he can protect you until we can catch the killer."

"But that's in Miami. I'm safe here. I moved away from that. All of that!" She swiped her hand through the air as if physically clearing everything bad from her past. Despite her best efforts she was becoming hysterical.

"Ma'am, we have reason to believe the perpetrator has found you."

She froze again.

"What?"

"We can't know for sure if the killer actually has, or if he's bluffing. But, either way, we believe it's in your best interest to accept Mr. Keefe's help to ensure your safety."

Keefe got up from the couch and sat next to Lisa on the loveseat, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. "Lisa, I know that this is a shock. And I apologize for not telling you sooner about keeping tabs on you, but it all turned out for good, right? Now we know about this threat and can protect you. I can have a safe house set up for you. A place to go for a time while the FBI catches this psycho."

Lisa shrugged off Keefe's hand and sat back further in the chair. Her mind was reeling. She wanted to run away, she wanted to stay, she wanted to hit something, she wanted to cry until she couldn't shed another tear. But most of all, she wanted this to be a dream. A horrible dream. She wanted to wake up and have no secret service agents in her hallway, no politicians on her sofa. She couldn't get over the fact that Keefe had kept up with her. She had been stalked once before, Keefe knew this, but he had gone ahead and followed her anyway. Now, she was in danger, people were dying. She just didn't know what to think. She needed time to figure out what to do. But, she did know that she had stopped running. She had found a place she loved, people she loved, she was not going to leave it.

She swallowed back the sobs trying to escape her throat, and fixed Keefe with a determined glare. "Mr. Keefe, I am not leaving here."

"Lisa, you're being irrational. We're trying to protect you." Keefe's soothing tone and fatherly gestures were grating on her last intact nerve.

"I am so _sick _of being protected. I am so _sick_ of needing protection in the first place! I am not leaving here! You can't come in here, break this news to me and then wisk me off like some damsel in distress. I can defend myself- I have before… And what are the chances that psycho even actually knows where I am, let alone is going to come after me? And _why_? Why would he come after me of all people? Why is he killing these women?" Lisa stopped, her chest heaving. She couldn't do this, not again.

"Ma'am, we don't know for sure he's going to come after you, we don't know why he's killing these women." Hagerty said, "That's why we though it best to give you some sort of protection until we figure this out. Because the only thing we know for sure, is that you are involved somehow."

Keefe turned to her once again. "Lisa, I can't say I didn't expect this from you. I know you don't want to leave, but at least except my help. I could have security put in place to help keep you safe. I know I'll sleep better at night knowing you're protected."

"I don't want security. I don't want any of this." She put her head in her hands breathing deeply and sniffling back tears. _Calm down, Leese, let's think._ She calmed her tears, and tried to form coherent thoughts. As angry as the situation made her, she had to think about what was in her best interest. She had not survived her surprisingly dangerous life so far without her fierce sense of self-preservation. Drawing on her inner strength, she raised her head, straightened her spine and addressed Keefe. "What do you mean by security?

"That's my girl," Keefe gave her his best political smile. "Well, we would have one of our men stay at the Inn just to keep an eye on anything suspicious. You'd need to make sure he knows where you are, and he could tighten up security of the building itself, making it difficult for anyone with… sinister… intentions to have access to you."

"So… you're saying I'd have a bodyguard?"

Keefe put his hands up in front of him. He knew using phrases like that would only put her off the idea. He was a politician after all, he knew how to spin.

"Not a bodyguard, Lisa. More someone you can go to for help, and who would be my eyes and ears in the situation. He'll work with the FBI on the investigation when needed." His eyes became sincere and his voice lowered, "I really am concerned for you, Leese. I owe you more than I can repay for the safety of my family, and I know your father quite well. Nothing could kill him faster than the news that his daughter was hurt. I want this bastard's killings stopped, and I want you to remain safe."

Lisa met his gaze. She wanted to trust him, but something seemed off about his manner. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Do you agree to accept my help?"

She sighed before nodding slightly. "Yes," she whispered.

"Excellent. Now, as I assumed you would want to stay here, I've actually already assigned someone to the job. Someone who had a little time on his hands and agreed to help me out as a… favor, you might say." At Lisa's worried look, he again gave the politician smile. "Now don't worry, he's the best at what he does, or so he claims. You've actually met him before. Hagerty, would you run downstairs and see if he's arrived?"

"No need, Mr. Keefe. He's here."

"Your directions were shit."

At the sound of this new voice, Lisa's body went tense. She slowly turned in her seat to look behind her. Standing in the doorway, looking coldly annoyed was none other than Jackson Rippner.

"Ah, Mr. Rippner, you've arrived."

* * *

A/N: So, one month later... :) Um, sorry? I was _so_ distracted and unwilling to write this chapter all month. I don't know why. But, it's here now! And extree long (longest yet :)) to make up for it. Also, I FINALLY got it done, and what does ffdo? Yeah, it goes down for a couple of days. This is how my luck works. If anyone would like to trade me, let me know. Though with all that spare time, it did get a thorough reviewing from my fantastical editing friends! Thanks guys! My roommate's reaction upon reading this for the first time was: "All I can say is that you better be fully prepared to explain how Jackson being Lisa's bodyguard is a good idea." Bear with me, people. Of course, she also finished her review with "You're a ho and I'm not bringing you cake" so I don't know if her view is _entirely_ universal... Anyway, all will reveal itself shortly. Or longly- depending on what your question is. **Thank you so much** for all your kind reviews for the last chapter!(Chai Addict, you're amazing!) Please review again and let me know what you think! Go ahead and leave some con crit, I'm actually open to it! Use this chance while you have it! Exclamation point! 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye.

_**Chapter 4**_

* * *

Lisa's body was frozen. Her face was white. Her stomach was in active rebellion.

Charles Keefe calmly rose to his feet and moved to greet the newcomer to their little party. Lisa took in every detail: Keefe was taller than Jackson, Jackson was better dressed. A too-firm handshake met an icy stare. Jackson did not look happy.

"Mr. Rippner, please, come in. You remember Agent Hagerty, and of course, Lisa Riesert."

Jackson nodded in their direction as he and Keefe walked further into the room. He did not meet nor acknowledge Lisa's appalled gaze.

Feeling as though her life was spinning out of control and she could do precious little to stop it, Lisa finally spoke.

"Stop," she commanded, so quietly no one heard her. Gathering strength from her anger, she repeated louder: "STOP."

Keefe and Jackson did stop as they were crossing the room. Keefe put out an arm as if to protect Jackson as Lisa stood from her seat, hands fisted and legs braced, ready to confront one of her worst fears. "You. Leave, now. Get out of my house." Her voice was low and her glare bore into Jackson's face.

As riled as Lisa had become, Jackson was impressively impassive. He did not show the slightest reaction to her words- his jaw remained set and his expressionless stare was directed at a spot on the wall over her left shoulder.

"Lisa" Keefe's voice held a warning.

In her outrage, she moved around the love seat and gesturing wildly, hissed, "Don't 'Lisa' me! He tried to _kill me. _HE TRIED TO KILL YOU! And you just invited him into my study. This is not going to happen. No. I _won. _Do you hear me? I won! _I_ _killed you._" Jackson's jaw flexed at the words, but it was the only change in his otherwise stony countenance. Only aggravated further by his lack of response, Lisa began to stamp toward him, but was intercepted by one of the secret service men.

"Lisa, please, give me a chance to explain this."

Staring over the shoulder of the agent holding her, she didn't spare a glance for Keefe when he spoke. Her eyes were still locked on Jackson, watching for his every move, his every non-existent twitch of expression. Her whole body was tensed and waiting for him to react. And yet, the shock that coursed through her when he finally swung his gaze from nothing to her, caught her as if unawares. As she watched, his strange eyes took in her flushed face and heavy breathing. Suddenly, his flat expression disappeared, and a look of condescension slid over his face as he twitched his nose and pursed his lips.

"Leese…" Jackson started, giving the nickname a sneering inflection as he cocked his head. "You look upset."

Lisa narrowed her eyes and fit all of her rage into one sarcastic reply, "REALLY!"

"I see we still have control problems…" He made a tsking noise and held up his hand to ward off the vulgar reply obviously forming on Lisa's lips. Leaning toward her a bit he spoke in a low stage whisper, "Why don't you get yourself together, sit down and listen to him. We don't have time to indulge your need to throw a fit." He smirked at her rather violent reaction to his words.

Lisa finally stopped struggling and fought to control her reeling emotions. She knew better than to lose control. Taking a deep breath she turned, looked Keefe straight in the eye, and asked, "Are you serious?"

"He wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

She turned in as dignified a manner as possible and regained her seat. Keefe sat back down on the sofa next to Hagerty, but Jackson remained standing near the window, hands in his pockets.

"Lisa… Leese… I know, that this is not what you want. This isn't what any of us want." Keefe glanced at Jackson, whose back was turned to them as he stared out the window.

"Then, why?"

"It's a bit more complicated then I'd like to go into right now, but… well, you should know that I know Mr. Rippner, and I did before his attempt on my life. In fact, he used to work for me, in a way, a long time ago. But now, after the fiasco involving both of us and those Russians, he is, obviously, unemployed. And you, my dear, are in need of some protection. You have to understand that this psycho after you is not some horror movie character. He's very real, as are the women he's slaughtered."

He sat back, allowing this to sink in. Furrowing his brow in deep consideration, he continued, "Now, I have choices. I could use a government agency, cash in some favors for you, get you in a safe house somewhere… but I know from experience that their resources are limited- and, as we've already established, getting you to move would take considerable force. I don't underestimate you, I've seen the results."

Here, again, he looked at Jackson- this time with something like a smile on his face. Jackson merely continued to look out the window, though his reflection showed his expression had gone stony again.

"Or, I could use what is readily available to me, and if I may say this in front of Hagerty here, considerably more efficient than my own branch of government."

Through Keefe's speech, Lisa felt a very large headache beginning. She rubbed her temples in an attempt to calm the throbbing. "So, what's readily available to you is _that_?" She indicated Jackson with her head and immediately regretted it.

"Correct. Mr. Rippner owes me. In fact, he owes quite a few people right now- the least dangerous of which is me, and that's saying something. He needs a job, but can't return to the international arena. Therefore, he has more free time than he can handle. So, I agreed to give him this opportunity, and do what I can to ease the heat on him. If he succeeds in this, and I'm confident he will, he will return to work for me."

"Mr. Keefe, really, I'm trying to understand you, but it still seems to me that if a man tries to kill you and your family…"

"I don't expect you to understand that. There is a lot more involved in this than you know. What I'm asking is that you trust me. He has skills that will help us, Lisa. And I can assure you- he's not going to harm you. He's under my control. I've given him orders to keep you safe, and I have no doubt he'll follow them to the letter. Mr. Rippner is the most professional and detached man I have ever met."

Lisa opened her mouth to object that, in fact, _Mr. Rippner_ was a vengeful lunatic with a large knife, when Keefe cut her off.

"Lisa, what happened before, I saw. I saw the aftermath; I saw what it did to your home, your life. And I would _never_ put you through something like that again."

She saw the sincerity of his words in his eyes. She really did want to trust him. She could never trust Jackson, but Keefe she'd known since she was young. It was so natural for her to accept the word of a father figure. "I know that you wouldn't, but I cannot trust that man. He hates me, I hate him. If he's had so much time on his hands, who's to say he's not the one…"

"Leese, you're getting carried away again," interrupted Jackson. He turned from the window to address her further. "Let's cut the bullshit, okay? Either you trust what he's saying or you don't. There's no reason to worry your pretty little head about anything beyond that."

Lisa finally looked up at him. There was no reading his expression as she'd done with Keefe. He was inscrutable- if a bit annoyed.

He looked her in the eye as he continued, "Do you really think I want to be here? Do you really think I want to be stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere, babysitting? It's my only option right now- and it looks like it just became your only option as well."

"Jackson, watch your language," said Keefe, and Jackson's head swung around to him. Keefe looked stern, and Jackson shrugged, turning back to the window once more.

Lisa watched the exchange, however, she was absorbed enough in her own mind not to care. Her brain was in overdrive weighing pros and cons, playing the what-if game. What if Jackson decided to seek revenge? What if he was the one killing already? What if she sent him away and he wasn't? What if the killer was too much for her to handle herself?

She just wanted to feel safe again. She wanted to go back in time and be a little girl again, running to her Daddy during a thunderstorm, curling up in his arms and believing nothing could touch her while he was there. She didn't want to know that was a lie. She didn't want to know with absolute certainty that bad things happened whether or not her father was with her. But, she'd learned that lesson well, and she knew she had to rely on herself- even if Jackson was around.

Her mind continued to whirl. While she absolutely trusted Keefe, he was asking her to allow a man who'd already tried to kill her live in her home, her nightmare to become reality. She knew he was trying to keep her out of danger, just as her own father would. The method of doing so was what she questioned.

There was obviously something going on here, between Keefe and Jackson, that she didn't understand. Somehow, Keefe seemed confident Jackson would not defy him, and wouldn't hurt her. Jackson, for his part, did not seem any more hostile toward her than she would have imagined. The few times he'd even acknowledged her presence so far, he'd demonstrated irritation and condescension, but that, she imagined, was just his normal self. He didn't really seem overly interested in her at all. Could it be that he had no desire to seek revenge on her like she'd feared he did? Was he not as obsessed about what had happened as she was? After all, his job involved killing and being injured before she came along. Maybe it wasn't as significant an event to him as it was to her. Or maybe it was- it _had_ ruined his career.

Either way, Jackson had a point. It came down to whether she trusted Keefe or not. After what they'd been through, there was no doubt that she did. _So I guess that's it, _she thought. She'd put her faith in Keefe now, and hoped like hell he was right.

There was no way she could trust Jackson. She would let him be there, use his expertise, but she would not rely on him to protect her. She was her own woman, and would defend herself against whatever evil searched for her… and no matter what Keefe said, she would defend herself against Jackson. She refused to let fear make her weak and let down her guard. Leaning on Jackson could be a potentially fatal mistake- doing so would put her in a position more vulnerable than what she was now. Beneath the calm, cool exterior Lisa still saw the man that had snapped, had attacked her.

"Fine," she spoke calmly. The others in the room started slightly at the sound of her voice in the thick silence. "I trust you. I'll accept your 'help'. But if he tries anything, even moves an eyebrow in a threatening way, he's out of here." The fact that Jackson's eyebrows had moved exactly three times since entering the room did not seem important at that time.

"Excellent," Keefe nodded.

"Where's he going to stay?" Haggerty asked Keefe, peeling his eyes from Jackson's profile, where they'd been focused since he entered the room.

"Here, at the Inn. You have a room available, correct?"

Lisa reluctantly nodded.

"Good, then. He'll reside here, keep an eye on your safety, and Haggerty will get his agents working even harder to crack this case."

"Will I be informed about what's going on with your investigation?"

"I'm afraid we can't," answered Haggerty. "Some of this is already in the gray area. However, Keefe will be kept informed, and I'm sure he'll enlighten Jackson, who should let you know anything relevant."

Lisa was uncomfortable with Jackson being her only source of information. "Mr. Keefe, would you give me your contact information… in case I need to get a hold of you for any reason?"

"Of course, of course. I have a card here, for you with my office's number, etc. Do you have any other questions for me?"

She had about a hundred but could not get them untangled in her mind at the moment. It all seemed to be going very quickly now.

"I can't think of any right now."

"Well, I'm sure you will. Mr. Rippner should be able to answer most everything for you, he was briefed earlier. If not, you do have my card; feel free to call me at any time."

"Wait, you're leaving now?"

"Unfortunately, yes. To the rest of the world I'm currently 'in transit' between two important stops. I'll be leaving behind one of Haggerty's men to ensure everything is set up properly tonight."

Keefe and Haggerty stood, and Lisa, as hostess, almost reflexively stood as well, to see them out of the Inn. Her mind was whirring again as she accompanied the party to the front door of the building. Keefe really was a whirlwind.

When the men stopped to retrieve their umbrellas, Keefe placed a hand on Lisa's and whispered, "This is the number to my private line. Just memorize it and get rid of the card. Use it if you have an emergency." She turned her hand over to meet the small square of cardstock in his palm. He gave her a reassuring grin. "Don't worry, I'm sure you won't need it."

"Thank you, sir, for everything." She made a sweeping gesture to encompass all that had passed that afternoon. "I'm touched you would do something like this."

"There's no need for thanks. How could I not?"

They said their goodbyes as Keefe, Haggerty, and co. stepped into the rain. The last one out of the house was the head of Keefe's security. He looked at her as he was leaving and said, "Don't worry ma'am. You look like a survivor." She thought she caught an "And I ought to know…" uttered under his breath, but wasn't sure.

As the rain beat a dreary rhythm against the Inn, she stood in the empty foyer for a long time watching the Keefe party drive away, and then just staring through the door into the rainy mess of an afternoon. It had been a trying day- beyond anything she had experienced in years.

Two floors above her, almost directly overhead stood the cause of a good deal of the mess. Jackson had not followed them down the stairs. Nor had he even acknowledged the others leaving. He simply continued to stare out of the window at the same depressing scene. Though, through sharp eyes he noticed something Lisa had not.

Almost as if moving of its own volition, his hand came out of his pocket, formed a crude gun with thumb and forefinger, and shot. Backlit as he was, on the wet ground below, his target received the message loud and clear. A slow half smile, almost feral in nature stretched his mobile mouth, gone almost as soon as it appeared.

* * *

A/N: Alrighty- this, uh, took a bit longer this time... SORRY! Life happens. Hope you enjoyed! Thank you for all the reviews! It seems many of you are were _a smidge_excitedthat Jackson showed up. Believe me, you'll see much more of him. Hopefully soon, as I am currently lacking a job (which isn't, unfortunately, a good thing). So I have oodles of time, currently. So, please, leave me a review. Tell me what you don't like and what you do. The seeker can only fill out so many applications at a time, a review to read will break the tedium.  
Oh and also: Um, the fourth paragraph up contains yet another lame joke served up with a side of corn: As I'm sure you're aware: Keefe's head of security is played in the movie by none other than Survivor: the Australian Outback almost-winner, Colby Donaldson. LAME I know, but it just needed to be done. 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye.

_Chapter 5_

* * *

  
Lisa Reisert was not really predisposed to cursing. That is not to say she never did it, but it was usually no more intense than "pain in the ass" or "damn it!"- And, due to an occupation that works closely with customers, she rarely said these things out loud.

However, as she was standing at the front door to the Bates Inn, watching the Keefe party leave in the nasty, rainy weather, knowing she was left here with a man that had already attempted to end her life once, she was seriously rethinking her policy on swearing.

And as she began to realize that someone was _yet again_ making their way up the front walk, big black umbrella in hand, she was completely satisfied with the one word that came to mind.

"_Fuck!"_

Sure enough, as the man reached the porch, she recognized the wrinkled suit and government-issued expression of another federal agent. Running one hand through her hair in irritation, she opened the door for the man in gray.

"Hi. Welcome to the Bate's Inn, may I take your umbrella?"

"Hi, yes. I'm Agent Jake Waterfield."

Having somehow lost her desire for small talk, she folded her arms over her chest and said, "I'm Lisa Reisert, this is my Inn, and I believe I'm the one you're going to be dealing with."

"Actually, ma'am, I'm sure Keefe informed you I'd be here to set up some security for the area. I'm really going to be dealing more with Mr. Rippner."

Lisa grimaced. "Of course. Follow me, I'll take you upstairs to meet him. I'm sure you'll have _lots_ of fun together." Spinning on her heel, she left a bemused Waterfield to follow in her wake.

"So, Ms Reisert, have you worked with Mr. Rippner before?" he asked.

"No," she bit out and increased her pace toward the stairs.

Easily keeping up with her while they ascended, he didn't bother to hide a smile. "Well, it's just, you seem to not be very fond of him. And, usually people don't start looking like that when you mention his name until they get to know him…"

When she reached the landing, Lisa spun and used the height advantage of being a step higher to look Waterfield straight in the eye. "I have _never_ worked with Ja- _Mr. Rippner_ before and you couldn't pay me to," she spat. "Whether I know him or not is none of your business, but no, I do not. Now, could you drop it and get on with your business?"

Waterfield's smile never once faltered. He merely looked her straight back in the eye and said, "You're a liar… and a terrible one, I might add," before moving past her toward the study.

Lisa made an incredulous noise and called after him, "Wait, then have _you_ worked with him before?"

He turned to her, "Of course," he said, before disappearing into the study.

Lisa gave herself a moment to digest this new bit of information.

How had Jackson worked with the FBI before?

Keefe had told her they were connected, but no one seemed really inclined to share how. She wished she knew, because discovering after the fact that he went way back with the people protecting her was quite the surprise. The kind of surprise that should only happened in nightmares. Swearing that if Jackson knew Margie too she'd pull out every hair on his stupid terrorist head, she stepped into the room.

Waterfield was standing facing the couch where Jackson was sprawled, seemingly at ease, though the fury in his eyes suggested it was an act.

"Is this some kind of joke?" He sneered at Lisa as she took a seat. "Leese, you let this son of a bitch in?" He sighed overdramatically. "What am I going to do with you? Did I teach you nothing? _Never_ trust strangers."

Narrowing his eyes at an unmoved Jake he gestured imperiously, "Sit down, you miserable prick so we can get this over as quickly as possible."

"It's good to see you again too, Jack. How's life?"

Still relaxed against the cushions, Jackson pulled a pocketknife from his pants pocket. He stared at it for a moment before flipping the blade in and out. He looked up again at Waterfield and asked, "Do you know what I could do with this?"

"File your nails?"

Jackson thumbed the blade once more.

Waterfield remained completely unaffected, but Lisa was wincing with each flip of the knife. Seriously, who armed the crazy man? Jackson's intimidation wasn't even directed at her, and she was still tense. Annoyed at herself for her reaction, she consciously relaxed each muscle in her back. Confusion was still forefront in her mind over how the two men knew each other.

Suddenly Jackson launched himself across the coffee table and onto Waterfield, knocking over the loveseat. He pinned Waterfield to the ground, and pressed the blade of the pocketknife to his windpipe.

"JACKSON!" Lisa screamed

"I should kill you." He slammed Jake's head into the ground. "It'd be justified. The whole reason I'm in this fucking mess…" He swallowed as he stared down at Waterfield's wincing face. "It all comes back to you."

"That wasn't my fault," croaked Waterfield.

"Jackson, DON'T." Lisa yelled as she tried to move closer to them, not really sure what she was going to do, but overcome with the need to stop this before anyone got hurt. Waterfield spotted her move and signaled with the slightest nod for her to stay put.

"Jackson," Waterfield managed to rasp, "Listen to me. We both know how the commands came in. Following orders is what we did. What I did." The blade bit into his skin a bit as he spoke, "I had no choice."

"Traitors always pay," Jackson hissed.

"Lisa?" Margie's voice floated up to them, followed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. "Lisa? Was that you screaming?"

"We're not done," said Jackson as he stood and set the loveseat straight. In what Lisa thought was a strange gesture, he offered a hand to Waterfield and helped him up before readjusting his suit jacket and strolling nonchalantly back to the sofa.

"Uh, yes, Margie, that was me." She frowned at the blood she saw on Waterfield's neck as he adjusted his collar, but was quickly smiling again as Margie walked through the door. "Uh, Ana, she, uh," She frantically looked around her study and spotted a pretty antique vase on her desk. "She nearly knocked over my favorite vase. You know, the one from my Grandmother…Henrietta." She frowned and mentally kicked herself. _Fantastic choice, Leese, let's walk right into another one._

"Aw, sweetie, the one who passed recently?" asked Margie

"It's, uh, been over a year now," she replied, wanting more than anything to just drop the subject. She still missed her grandmother terribly sometimes.

"She was a great lady," Jackson piped up from the couch. "Did you know Lisa's named after her? Her middle name, of course. Very unexpected, Henrietta's death," his brow knit in faux sympathy, "it really came as a shock to everyone."

Lisa inwardly seethed at his audacity, but smiled politely, "Margie, I don't believe I've introduced you. These are friends through the family, Mr. Rippner and Mr. Waterfield, you'll probably be seeing a lot of them- they're here on business. Gentlemen, this my assistant Margery Spaniel."

"Oh please, sugar." She beamed at both men, who stood to shake her hand. "Make sure you call me Margie, we're real friendly here."

Jackson smiled and charmed. "I'll make sure to, Margie. You can call me Jackson. I've got a room here so I'm sure we'll get to know each other." He added a wink.

"Well, thank you. You'll enjoy your stay here- I promise." She turned to Lisa, "We're all done with appointments today, I'll just be down in the kitchen. You enjoy your company, now, Leese. And gentlemen, if you need anything when she's not around, give me a holler." She gave a very cheeky wink right back at Jackson before heading downstairs again.

Lisa was sure the whole scene was literally killing her. She rubbed her temples again.

"This is absurd. And you are rude," she snapped.

"But charmingly so," replied Jackson

"No, not charmingly. Cruelly. _My grandmother?_ You think that's funny?" She was so mad she almost spat at him. Instead she kept rubbing and concentrated on her breathing. She needed to calm down and not let him get the upper hand.

He shrugged. "You brought her up. I merely wanted to contribute to the conversation."

"You wanted to push my buttons."

"I can see it worked wonderfully." He pursed his lips trying to hold off a crooked smile. "And you're still a _horrible_ liar."

"Finally, something we can agree on," chimed in Waterfield. "And who the fuck is Ana?"

"My cat."

Waterfield started to laugh.

Lisa opened her eyes to see Jackson suddenly staring at her with startling intensity. His lightning quick mood changes were starting to give her intense whiplash, she thought.

"You have a cat?" he asked, pinning her with his eyes.

"Yes… why?"

"You have to get rid of it."

Offended, Lisa nearly shouted, "No! Why would I need to get rid of her?"

Jackson looked almost petulant, so Waterfield, looking like he was enjoying himself immensely answered for him. "Jackson's afraid of cats."

"You're kidding." Eyes wide and jaw the slightest bit slack, Lisa couldn't contain her incredulous laugh. She couldn't believe that was true.

"Gospel. It's called ailurophobia. The great white assassin is fallible." Waterfield had his hand to his heart, and Jackson hadn't attempted to slit his throat, so there must be some degree of truth…

Lisa turned with eyebrow raised to the subject in question.

But Jackson was definitely back in creepy silence mode. He seemed to easily switch from being filled with rage directed at Waterfield and being the man's friend. Just how far back did they go? And why did Jackson explode at him earlier? It seemed Jackson's violence was restrained for now, but Lisa really didn't want to have to witness a similar scene again.

"Listen, I'm not even going to ask about the cats, but know I'm not getting rid of Ana. And I'm not sure how you two know each other, or what happened between you… but I'd appreciate an explanation. You can't just attempt to cut someone's throat on my carpet with out explaining yourself."

Waterfield gripped the arm of the loveseat while Jackson pinned her with an icy glare.

"The only thing you need to know is that I can't work with this talentless dog. Call me when Keefe assigns you someone else." With that he rose and left for his room, leaving Waterfield shaking his head and Lisa with a migraine.

"I'll call Keefe," Waterfield sighed.

"I'll set you up a room."

* * *

Wow, bet you thought you'd never see this day, huh? Listen, 10 months to finish one chapter is just something that happens sometimes. It's normal, it happens to every one, it's not a big deal. Yes, I just gave you the erectile dysfunction speech. Let's roll with it ;) Many many thanks to my beta Katja who is in Australia right now :) And to playswithstars for threatening me with corporal punishment if I didn't keep working on this chapter!

Also, huge thank you's to everyone who's read and reviewed this fic before, hopefully you all haven't lost hope!! And to anyone new to the story- leave me your opinion, con-crit welcome!!!!!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye. Also, remember how this is rated M?

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Chapter 6

_He moved like a cat through the wet night air. Silent footsteps fell in a graceful rhythm, slinking and stretching in the shadows on the edge of the parking lot. The sodium lights of the run down motel's parking lot cast his face in sharp relief as he looked around once more. The 'E' on the neon sign for the place had burned out. But no one complained. And no one saw him as he quickly covered the last few yards to the building._

_He had chosen this motel very carefully- he could not play in her home like the others. Off a small highway in the Virginia wilderness, it was the type of place to rent by the hour. Its rooms were hovels of grime, stained sheets, and faulty plumbing. But, he thought, it helped cut down on a number of annoying distractions._

_For instance, he needn't worry about surveillance. The lone camera at the end of the building looked as though it'd been broken for years. No one wanted evidence of what they were doing in this place._

_He needn't worry about the owner; he'd paid the man more than enough for a two week stay. Though, he had to admit, it pained him to do it. The reeking man would probably use the extra money to buy more liquor, judging by the overpowering stench of his clothes and breath. In his opinion, unclean people were revolting. Cleanliness is next to godliness, you know, but his pragmatic side let him see the benefit: drunks are unreliable witnesses._

_And he certainly needn't worry about other guests; they were too busy keeping their own secrets for an hour or two to worry about his._

_As soon as he'd taken up residence in Room 14, on the end and around the back of the one story building, he'd been preparing it. It became a sacred experience for him: it had to be perfect- he'd waited so long. He'd bleached the filthy walls and bought new sheets for the bed, cleaned the stained carpet and hung fresh towels in the bathroom. He'd even tried a hand at plumbing to fix the toilet. Before, flushing a used condom was the only thing it was suited for, but now it was running fine. Everything in the room was cleaned and sanitized. There was even a fresh vase of flowers sitting on the small dresser. He did it for her. He knew she would appreciate the details- Lisa always did._

_The faulty sign blinked a few times as he disappeared around the corner to reach his room. His step though still furtive, was light. He was thrilled at his progress, and quietly hummed an old Cat Stevens tune to himself. He'd found her and was closer than he imagined. He'd found that perfect opportunity to be near her, touch her, breath her scent again._

_Though, he had to admit, being so close was highly frustrating. Every moment he'd been torn between his desire for her and the darker urge to slice her open, make her pay. _

_As he reached the door and drew out his key, he froze, going absolutely silent, straining his ears for sounds out of place. Beyond his racing heartbeat he heard nothing, saw nothing suspicious so he unlocked the door._

_Closing and locking it behind him and switching on the lights brought him the sight of his gift to her, glinting ominously from the bed where he'd left it out. Careless of him, he chastised himself. He picked it up off the bed and found a towel to wipe it clean of the semen dulling the deadly blade. As he cleaned, he closed his eyes and remembered the smell of her, the way she'd looked at him. He thought about the last time he'd used it, those precious moments when they were body to body, and the look in her eye then. Unconsciously, he began to rub the flat of the blade against the growing bulge in his pants. He caught himself, once again giving himself a mental kick. He would not sully his gift again. The next time he removed the 12-inch hunting knife from its sheath would be to penetrate Lisa Reisert's skin. The thought only excited him further, and he set the knife on the dresser, next to the flowers, content to use his hand._

_Yes, Lisa would appreciate the details._

* * *

A/N: Oh my creepy, creepy killer. It'd be fun if you knew who it is, no? This is short chapter, I know, but it's all part of the experience :) You can expect a longer chapter with in a week or so that will be back to suspense/yummy Jackson. I'd apologize for it being forever since I last updated but... I do that every chapter! Maybe I should just concentrate on writing this time LOL. If you are confused about anything, have a comment or opinion about Perilous (+ or -), or just had really good chinese food for lunch... leave a review and tell me!!

And once again: my lovely walrus-training beta owns my soul.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye.

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_Chapter 7_

Lisa took care of setting up rooms for both Waterfield and Jackson, told Margie to leave for the day, and spent the rest of that rainy evening shut up in her apartment. She paced her rooms, feeling restless and on edge. She made herself a quick microwavable dinner, but the sight of the steaming food turned her stomach. She left it on the counter uneaten.

Needing some way to distract herself from this high-strung mood, she tried to read a book. The feeling of restlessness quickly started to head in the direction of fear as she distractedly read the same sentence for the 13th time. She threw the novel onto the side table. She couldn't let the fear take over, wouldn't let it gnaw at her.

Instead, she consciously pushed it aside. But underneath was anger. She was angry at the situation, at once again playing the victim in some twisted story. That fury, she decided, she could work with. She let it well up. She battled with it and it made her feel stronger.

She imagined scenario after scenario involving herself and anyone who was currently causing her offense, and in these little fantasies she was invincible. In them there was no helplessness, no fear on her part. She screamed her opinion of his high-handedness at a white-faced Senator. She tore into Waterfield for his involvement.

And Jackson? Well, Jackson she did more than yell. In her mind she shoved and pushed, she shook him and hit him until he bled. She screamed for him to leave her alone. In her mind she intimidated him, made him fear her the way she had feared him during their fateful last encounter.

It did make her feel stronger, but in a way there was no use for it, because even beyond her anger at Jackson, there was something else. There would always be that thing she hated and feared above everything. A blackness she would never dare engage in some sort of mental exercise. It was always there, just beyond her consciousness, and she knew it was the reason she could never be really whole again.

Maybe a part of it was because she knew her other 'enemies'. She knew their faces, their voices, and even their motives, for the most part. Even Jackson Rippner followed a certain kind of logic. Twisted logic, but Lisa could identify that it was there, that he had some sort of reasoning behind his actions.

No one, not a single bully or liar or assassin she had ever met, had been as terrifyingly unknown in motive and identity as the man behind her real fear. Not one of them had worn ski-masks to obscure their faces, or spoke so roughly in a whisper pressed to her ear that she could never identify his real voice. No one else could be as terrifyingly nameless as a man in black, following her with heavy boot steps on a warm day in a small parking lot.

Lisa shuddered, as the very edge of that blackness in her mind tried to free itself. It would do her no good to go there, she knew she could not defeat it. She shook her head as if she could physically clear it from her consciousness.

Lying on the couch, just concentrating on breathing quietly, she felt exhausted. And foolish. If she couldn't deal with Jackson and Waterfield being here, then every day would be this stressful, this painful. The part that goaded her the most was that she was actually excellent at dealing with problems- she prided herself on it in her professional life. She needed to learn to apply some of her skills in dealing with costumers to dealing with herself.

Okay, what was the first rule when dealing with a complaining client, she asked herself. Don't ask them to be calm, just do something about it.

Maybe that was the big problem Lisa was having with all of this is- she had nothing to do. The situation with Keefe's security detail was sprung on her only a few hours ago, and it was already out of her control. She really, really hated that. She wanted to be in charge, or at least involved- it affected her life damn it! And if there was some guy out there, killing girls that looked like her, clearly she should be able to contribute in some way to bringing the bastard down.

She needed to settle down and figure out if she could identify someone who could commit such atrocious crimes. No one in her acquaintance was openly crazy. It seemed silly, but she still thought hard about if she knew anyone, even in passing, who could hate her enough to want to kill her. She drew a blank again and again

Except… She huffed a frustrated breath. There _was _Jackson. He'd tried to kill her once, a year ago, because she'd ruined his attempt to assassinate Senator Keefe. But even he wouldn't be insane enough to substitute her life with those of innocent women. Would he? Considering he was under the same roof as her for the foreseeable future, she certainly hoped she was right.

Jackson seemed to be the source of a few mysteries floating around Lisa's mind, like: How did he even get here? What was this Keefe business? She didn't think it was possible to attempt to assassinate a man one day, and be under his orders the next. What in the world could have happened between then and now to change their relationship so dramatically?

He was supposed to be here as an agent of the US government, protecting her from any unforeseen complication in the investigation of a serial killer, yet he had held a knife to throat of an FBI agent just a few hours ago. Something big had to have happened between Jackson and Waterfield. And apparently, Jackson had some issues with letting things go.

She could personally attest to that.

Suddenly exasperated, she threw her hands in the air, gesturing to the empty room. All she wanted were some answers, was that too much to ask?

She noticed her cat, Anna, giving her a judging look from the back of the couch.

Lisa grimaced. "Don't give me that look," she said aloud.

Anna flicked the tip of her tail.

"What the hell am I supposed to do then, if you're so smart?" She petulantly folded her arms across her chest "I've been asking the same questions all day, and I haven't gotten a straight answer from anybody. They can't just expect me to sit here, without any idea what's going on, right? They can't keep me in the dark."

The cat stood up and stretched in that luxurious feline way.

"You're right, of course they will. What am I thinking?"

It hopped down from the couch and headed to its food dish in the kitchen.

"Fine, thanks for listening."

Lisa drummed her fingers on her leg, deep in thought. It seemed no one was going to listen to her anytime soon, so she'd have to take matters into her own hands. Making up her mind, she stood from the couch and hurried to the kitchen. Hanging from a hook on the wall was the master key to all the suites in the Inn.

"Hello, information," she said with a crooked smile.

She took a quick inventory of her clothes: her most comfortable pair of jeans and a white long sleeve knit top. In all likelihood her plan wouldn't work out, and she knew that, but if she was going to spy on people who actually did things like spying for a living- she should go all out. She jogged into her bedroom and quickly threw on the dark zip-up hoodie she wore to go running on chilly days , zipping it all the way up. She didn't bother to put on shoes, she wanted to be as quiet as possible.

She padded back through the living room to the front door, opened it a crack, and peered out. Taking a deep breath, she palmed the key ring before stepping into the stairwell. She tried to climb down the old stairs as quietly as possible, but they creaked with almost every step. Freezing every time they made a noise, praying no one was in the Inn's kitchen to hear her, she thought she must look absolutely absurd. It was worth it when she made it down to the main floor, and the thrill of not getting caught flooded her with adrenaline.

She sneaked down the hall, turning to the large staircase that led to the suites. She tried to keep swiveling her head, keeping an eye out for her only guests. As she reached the second floor landing, she looked around again. It was awfully dark up here. The dim lighting she used to think created a relaxing ambiance was now sending her nerves tingling. Tomorrow, she was putting brighter bulbs in every lamp.

The stairs opened into the middle of the hallway, with rooms both to the right and left. She had given Jackson and Waterfield rooms located down the end of the hallway leading to the right. They were the farthest possible rooms from her own apartment. She'd felt like she'd won some sort of secret battle at the time, but now she regretted not putting them closer so she wouldn't have to go so far. She furtively snuck over the muffling carpet, fingering the key she needed as she went.

She stopped when she got to their doors. A quick glance showed there were no lights coming from under the oak wood doors. There was no way she was breaking into Jackson's room, who knows what fresh horrors awaited her in there. She turned resolutely to Waterfield's, took a deep, quiet breath and knocked softly.

No reply.

She let go of the breath shakily, not sure whether to be thankful or disappointed that no one was home. It looked as though she was going through with it. She quickly inserted her key into the lock and pushed open the heavy door.

The room was dark when she scurried inside. A thrill of excitement over her success ran through her as she paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the dimness. After a beat, she made her way over to the small closet near the window and turned on its interior light. Where to look first? She wasn't exactly an expert at this sort of thing. She cracked the door open a bit so that the pale yellow beam ran across Waterfield's bed. His unpacked suitcase lay upon the fancy Victorian coverlet, and she figured that was a great place to start.

She unzipped it as quietly as she could and carefully dug through. Some clothes, basic toiletries, a pair of running shoes. When she moved the shoe, she touched something cold and hard. Packed under his clothes was a hunting knife. Not only that, but a sleek handgun and boxes of ammunition. The shudder that ran through her this time wasn't from excitement.

There was nothing else of interest in the luggage. She put everything back as she'd found it and rezipped the luggage. Nerves had her fingers tingling as she opened the nightstand drawer, then when that produced nothing, the drawers of the antique dresser. Since he hadn't yet unpacked, nothing was stashed in there, either.

Where was his briefcase? She knew she saw him with one during their initial meeting. Did he have it with him now, wherever he was? She was leaning down to check under the bed when she heard a noise from the hallway and froze.

She didn't move, didn't breathe. Her eyes strained to hear any noise from the hall, while her mind raced to come up with a decent excuse for being in an FBI agent's room. She stayed that way for a full minute, only letting out her breath when she was sure no one was coming. She moved quickly now, moving about the room, making sure everything was in the precise place it had been when she came in.

As she was closing the closet door, a glint from the floor caught her eye. It was the in-suite safe, bolted to the floor. She had completely forgotten about it. She threw a glance at the door, debating whether she should risk taking the time to investigate.

Throwing caution to the wind, she knelt down and saw that the door to the safe was closed. Waterfield had to have put something inside and locked it. She retrieved the key ring from her pocket, remembering that for liability purposes, she had the key to open the safes. She felt like the metal keys were obscenely loud in the quiet room, but she quickly found the right one and popped open the thick door.

Inside, stuffed at an angle, were files. She grabbed them from the safe and held them up to the light. There were two thick files with a slim one, almost unnoticeable, at the bottom of the stack. The top and thickest file's tab was labeled in neat, block lettering: "CASE #5732-9 MIAMI, FL."

_Bingo, _Lisa thought.

Absorbed in her success, she walked over to Waterfield's bed and set the files down. The light from the closet cast an eerie glow on the manila cardstock as she gingerly opened the case file. There was a sheaf of papers clipped together, with a photo tucked neatly under the pin. Softly curling auburn hair framed the face of a pretty young woman; her wide brown eyes smiled as she laughed into the camera.

Moving the snapshot aside, she flipped through the papers underneath. Ashley Lynn Hendricks had been found in her home beaten and cut, bound to her own bed. Lisa's stomach rolled as she read of green contacts placed on the victims eyes, and a knife wound gouged above her right breast. Tears threatened to spill as crime scene photos stuck among the papers revealed the horrifying images that corresponded to the descriptions. She could see clippings from newspapers strewn about the bed, blood stained newsprint describing Lisa's heroic turn on a red eyed flight.

Behind the clipped sheaf was another, another lovely girl with naturally green eyes bound in her home, but this time with bloody words scrawled over her abdomen. Behind that another, Katie Theresa Price, found just three days ago. Lisa closed the file with shaking hands as nausea threatened to overcome her.

_He made them all look like me. All three._

It was finally sinking in: how much danger she was in. How much danger innocent women could be in. This was the work of a mad man, a psychotic killer bent on… on what? On revenge? Or was it some sort of strange obsession, a darkness that lurked in someone unidentifiable?

And here she sat, skulking in the dark, while somewhere another woman could be dying in her place. She swallowed the lump in her throat- falling apart would get her nowhere. She needed to keep searching for a clue, a hint, a feeling… _anything _that could lead to identifying this mad man.

She picked up the second file, glanced at the tab, and froze. There, scrawled in blue ink, was her name. Her brows drew together as she lifted the cover, unveiling page upon page of yellow paper that looked like they'd been torn from a legal pad. Notes were jotted in the same blue ink over nearly the entire surface of the sheets. Her blood ran cold as she noticed that each page detailed her every little movement for weeks. The date at the top confirmed that these were written a year and a half ago. These were Jackson Rippner's notes.

A movement near the door caught her peripheral and she jumped, dropping the file.

"Interesting, huh? Seeing yourself through the eyes of someone else…" Jackson's cold whisper broke the silence of the room as he stepped through the cracked door.

Lisa clamped down on the scream that tried to rip from her throat. How long had he been there?

"I see you're doing a little breaking and entering. How uh," he pursed his lips, "how exactly does that fit in with your moral upbringing?" he continued to move toward her, his startling gaze holding hers. He pouted as he continued, "Leese, you should have asked me for help. We work so well as a team."

Her heart in her throat, her eyes wide, she tried to calm her breathing through her nose. The files still lay on the bedspread, the one on herself lying open and askew. She shakily closed the cover and picked up the stack as he continued to move into the room.

"I could have given you some tips, you know. For instance," he pretended to search for his next words, "I could have told you to not leave the door open." He reached the far side of the bed now, and she began to move backwards.

Swallowing , she replied, "From what I could tell, all the sociopaths were gone. If I knew you were near I would have."

His smile flashed briefly before his intense gaze looked her up and down.

"That was your first mistake," he said as her back hit the bedroom wall. He was closer now, so close she could see the droplets of rain water on his neck, even in the dark. Her eyes frantically sought out an escape route.

"Don't you want to know your second, Leese?" He had reached her before she could form a plan, before she could think of a way to diffuse this. She inhaled sharply as his wet suit jacket soaked the material of her sweatshirt when he suddenly reached out to grab her wrists.

The files dropped, raining paper to the floor as he slammed her hands to the wall, pinned her with his strength. She struggled against the hold as he insolently leaned in close to her ear, whispering, "Bare feet."

"Bare feet?" she grunted, trying to wiggle away from him. She caught him with an elbow, but he simply shoved his torso into hers, using his weight to completely cover her body.

His lips brushed her cheek as he whispered, "How will you run?"

* * *

A/N: HEY that was a lot quicker than last time, no? Enjoy, leave a review (whether you like it or hate it), and I'll see you next time ;)

Also, just a heads up that I plan on revising previous chapters, content hopefully won't change, but they may be slightly different when you look back at them. The reason being, of course, that I post as I get things done, which leaves a sort of tangled mess at the beginning of the story... anyway, just wanted to let ya'll know.


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